


you have to get up to see the sunrise

by boneclaws



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Familial Abuse, Gen, Misogyny, Moral Ambiguity, Political Alliances, Redemption, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneclaws/pseuds/boneclaws
Summary: These past few years have been difficult for Hans Westergaard, a disgraced prince of the Southern Isles. As punishment for his crimes against the kingdom of Arendelle, Hans has become a servant to his own family-- the most rotten, terrible, no-good people on the face of the planet. Bitter and angry, he's resigned himself to a miserable life without change, and lives his days without really living.Then his eldest brother invites Princess Anna to the kingdom, and apparently she hasn't come alone.A story about regrets for the wrong reasons, second chances, and how the spectrum of love can save even the most broken people.
Relationships: Future Hans Westergaard/Kristoff Bjorgman, Hans Westergaard & Anna of Arendelle, Hans Westergaard & His Brothers, Hans Westergaard & Original Character(s), Kristoff Bjorgman & Anna of Arendelle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	you have to get up to see the sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set between _Frozen_ and _Frozen II_ and takes backstory and some characterisation from the novel _A Frozen Heart_ , though reading the novel isn't necessary in any way. I don't have a concrete story length, but I suspect it'll be several chapters yet. I'll be aiming for weekly updates, so let's see how long this lasts.
> 
> Thanks to [barnumxcarlyle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barnumxcarlyle) for beta reading! Love you, wifey. :')

A basket in each hand and the chill of early morning tickling his neck, Hans stopped for just a moment to watch the sun rise and spill its colours over the earth. Little by little the pink-orange-purples of the sky painted the grass, the trees, the structures—even the drab, dark stone of the castle appeared, for just a moment, to shine with colour instead of looking bleak.

It was a magical sight, he imagined. It was a picturesque moment that oil painters sought to capture with a talented sweep of the brush. The ocean crashed, the wind carried the taste of salt with it, the Southern Isles bloomed in the cotton candy hues of early morning, and Hans had never hated it more.

It’d been nearly three years of this early morning sunrise, he realised, moving from his spot and walking where the livestock were kept. It’d been nearly three years of living under his father with a new layer of shame, of being tasked with hard labour and nothing else, of hearing sneers and insults every time he so much as stood in the same room as any of his brothers. It was funny how time passed, if only because things were supposed to change with it, and all these years Hans had been nothing but stagnant. And sure, it was funny in a _cruel_ way, but then again, so was everything about him.

Hans entered the hen house and was greeted with familiar smells and sounds, and despite it all took a deep breath like he wasn’t inhaling the fresh scent of shit. When he’d first began his work nobody had helped him; his father had explicitly gotten a number of their servants rotated elsewhere to keep Hans from having any benefit. His family, as was typical of them, could spare a few days without eggs at the breakfast table if it meant the youngest prince would be taught a lesson, and Hans had been pecked and shat on and dropped enough eggs that things had certainly stuck. _Literally_.

Now, though, he collected eggs with not just grace, but speed. And the _thought_ of that—that he’d been working this way long enough he’d started to become _good_ at it—was the most annoying thing Hans knew about himself. He was supposed to be getting better at political strategy, not collecting eggs. He was supposed to be improving the state of kingdom resources, not making sure that the animals on his family’s property were nice and comfortable.

 _And yet_ , he thought, putting down the last egg to make the basket full, _I’m good at it all the same._

* * *

The kitchens, at least, weren’t quite as lonely as the hen house. The other servants had only just begun their work when Hans deposited his basket of eggs with a droll-looking face.

“Have you started the milking?” the cook, Kimmo, asked.

“Where do you think I’m going?” Hans shot back with a roll of his eyes, picking four empty buckets up from their place in the pantry.

Kimmo fixed him with a look and a significant raise of the brow. “With luck,” he said, “the barn.”

And Hans smiled, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “Your faith in me is astounding.”

Kimmo waved him off, unimpressed, and Hans made sure to bow before his exit, turning on his heel and leaving as swiftly as he could. This was less because he disliked Kimmo (which he did, but not out of Kimmo’s own faults—Hans simply disliked everything about his new life, and the cook was an unfortunate casualty) and more because milking took nearly an hour of his time each day, and mornings were when his time was most precariously balanced.

Catching the sun in the sky as he walked outside, Hans’ mind registered its position for six in the morning, and his feet took him faster on nothing but principle. His father would be awake at the seventh hour and ready to have breakfast at half-past, and when his father had breakfast, the rest of the family did, too.

Every time the family had meals together, Hans was expected to serve them. Sometimes he was spared the fate of serving lunch and dinner, and on those days he truly believed in God again, but breakfast—the most important meal of the day—happened daily. Frankly, Hans would’ve preferred torture.

But breakfast would be easier if Eryk, the brother that’d come before him, wasn’t so adamant about announcing Hans’ arrival every time. His family’s tendency to ignore his existence was a thousand times better than their cruelty when they _did_ remember him, and Eryk made sure that they did every single day.

Hans had barely opened the door a crack when Eryk announced: “Little Hans is here!”

And then, as all heads turned but for those of the king, the crown prince Caleb, and everyone’s wives, a heavy feeling sank to the bottom of Hans’ stomach like an anchor.

“Oh, look, the failure’s come!” chirped Marinus, number nine but certainly not looking it, not after his introduction to opium. The snickers that echoed in the room were as loud as any crowd, but Marinus’ gaunt face and sunken eyes made him look uglier than all of them. Hans bit the inside of his cheek and pushed the cart of food forward, doing his best to work without distraction.

As he lowered a plate for Ansgar, number two, he felt his brother’s fingers and their long nails pinch his ear and pull, a high, nasally voice chirping, “Why, you’re not too bad at aiming at all! You put the plate down perfectly this time!”

To Ansgar’s left was Saul, number four but built like a mountain, and he punched Hans’ side with a fist wider than a ram’s horn. “It’s too bad you couldn’t hit a target at your feet, huh?” he teased.

“You’ve forgotten our Hansy’s a terrible coward,” Gunder, number seven, sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose and sniffling as he always did with his allergies, “you can’t fault him for running away from the Ice Queen.”

“I didn’t—” Hans started, but by then Ansgar had released him and pushed him forward, sending him stumbling in the direction of the rolling cart with all their food. He caught himself at the last minute, hands jostling the cart a bit when he grasped it for balance, and heard another peal of laughter at his expense.

Then came a stern baritone: “A man doesn’t make excuses for his failures.” Hans didn’t have to look up to know this was Colin, the tenth of them and the most serious of all. Colin didn’t laugh, but there was something in the way he spoke that made it impossible not to feel _lesser_ , somehow, and Hans felt sick to his stomach as he went around the table to serve the rest of the plates.

“I don’t think our little brother is much of a man,” said Jannek, born right after Colin, who had a wispy, scratched sort of voice against Colin’s smooth tones. “In fact—”

“Someone who touches _cow tits_ can’t be a _man_!” Rudi, number five, laughed, and Runo, his twin brother, had followed up with, “That’s almost like four little baby dicks, isn’t it? Baby brother, _goodness_ , if you wanted to touch another man so badly…”

The laughter continued. So did the jeering, with the same fervour. In the span of three minutes, Hans was called more names than he could count, with a few breakfast rolls wasted in favour of tossing them at him ‘because chickens should have their fill too’. When he rounded the table with his cart and came to the head of it to leave the room, he passed by his father who (like always) was caught in some passionate talk with Caleb. Hans had to look away to hide the complete hatred in his glare.

He wasn’t sure what would have been better. Did it hurt more that his father didn’t pay attention to any of it, or would he feel even more miserable if he’d joined in?

* * *

Hans had his own breakfast at nine, more than an hour since being in the presence of his brothers, and though he’d expected to have his ration of porridge alone, there sat a girl at the servant’s eating area, waiting for him with a smile.

Minka was younger than him—not even twenty, he surmised, though she didn’t know the exact number herself. A recent hire to the castle (and therefore having never been there when he was a prince), Hans only knew her because he’d had to teach her how to care for the horses, which she did in the mornings and he polished up in the afternoons. She was a nice girl, if not boring, and she’d grown up on one of the smaller islands in his father’s kingdom only to be sent to the mainland as payment for debt. Colin had collected her, though what else he might have done was up in the air. Hans did know, though, that she hated him the most, and that was perhaps the only reason he thought her worth any of his time.

Taking his bowl of food, Hans sat at Minka’s side without sparing a glance at her. “I told you to eat without me if I came later than half-eight,” he said, blowing on his first spoonful.

“I thought you’d be lonely,” came her reply, earning a roll of Hans’ eyes. She said things like this sometimes, talking about loneliness or friendship or the concept of family—she felt lonely, it seemed, being here on the king’s land instead of at home with her parents. Hans didn’t know what it felt like to be homesick like that, but he supposed that was what he got for not having a home to begin with.

“Lonely,” he muttered, eating his food and caring little for swallowing before speaking again, “yes, because I’m always surrounded by friends here, aren’t I?”

And Minka laughed, but not out of malice. “You know that’s not what I mean, Hans.”

Deep down in his heart, he supposed, where the little boy who grew up hiding in his room still lived, perhaps he did know. Still, he didn’t understand the sentiment. Chancing a glance her way, Minka was still smiling that kind smile of hers, and as much as he scowled in response Hans thought it best not to argue whatever point she was making. It wasn’t worth it, this defence at not being lonely, not when Minka laughed because they both knew Hans didn’t have any real friends down here. He only wished he’d been better at knowing what was worth his efforts when he believed that regicide would secure him a throne.

They ate in silence for the most part, a norm brought about by Hans’ blunt declaration not to speak to him while he ate the first few days they’d spent together. Minka, bless her unimpressive heart, had respected this unquestionably, but it was always so _obvious_ whenever there was something she wanted to say. She’d start to fidget with her fingers, her head dipped down to look at her lap, and though she said nothing, her whole body would be incapable of staying still.

It was the most annoying thing in the world, Hans thought, if he didn’t count the general existence of all his brothers. And when she started doing it now, it took him five whole seconds of debating before he finally sighed, “What is it?”

Minka, perking up in surprise, lifted both her shoulders before she started laughing nervously. Hans’ expression soured.

“Well… it’s just…” She moved her thumbs in circles, one spinning over the other. “Prince Milo wanted to go out to town today.”

Hans’ nose crinkled at the mention of his eighth brother. “And?”

“Remember, how I told you I wanted to see the kingdom?” He did remember, and he wished that he didn’t. “So I offered to handle his carriage,” she explained, and Hans’ face only got worse and worse. “You’ve been teaching me to do it, and I’m confident I can handle it, but the prince took one look at me and told me all I was good for was making servant children to serve His Highness—”

 _Oh, no._ “Minka,” Hans groaned, “I don’t _care_.”

“He told me to find someone else—”

“Can’t you be quiet?” _Oh, dear. Oh, no._ “I thought we agreed you’d be quiet during breakfast.”

“And the only other person I know who’s good with horses is—”

 _No!_ “Is this why you waited for me for breakfast? So that you could tell me—”

“—you, so I told him I’d ask if you could do it, but he said that I didn’t have to ask, because ‘you have to listen to whatever they say, and as stupid as you are at least you don’t have the tits to make you lose your balance’.”

That was when Hans stood, taking his bowl with him to make his way in deliberate strides to the kitchen sinks. Minka followed after him, feet scurrying over the stone tile, her own bowl in tow.

“I’m sorry, Hans,” she cried, “I am! But Prince Milo only wants to do charity work, he’s not going to speak to you!”

Whirling on his heel, Hans fixed his best glare Minka’s way, earning a quiet ‘eep!’ in response. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because Prince Caleb is coming with him,” she said.

“That makes it _worse_ ,” Hans deadpanned, paling at the thought of his eldest brother—at his father’s _favourite son_ —there to witness whatever abuse Milo thought apt to throw his way. “You do understand how that makes it worse, don’t you?”

“Hans, they’re not going to pay _attention_ to you. There’s no need to be _afraid_ —”

Very nearly slamming his bowl into the sink, Hans turned to his side and scowled Minka’s way. She stopped short of putting her own bowl in, holding it close to her chest.

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Hans said, slow and deliberate behind clenched teeth. “I just hate them. _Loathe_ them. I can’t stand being _with_ them. They’re _bullies_ , remember? They’re _awful_ , and they’re awful to everyone around them, and I can’t _believe you did this to me!_ ”

Minka shrank, blinking her eyes rapidly and looking away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, teeth digging into her lip. Hans turned back to look down at his bowl, turning the tap to the sink on to start rinsing it.

For some reason or other, he felt sick to his stomach, and only felt worse when he heard a sniffle from Minka’s side. He didn’t dare look at her, but the underside of his jaw ran hot, burning with some emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“Never volunteer me for my brothers again,” he grumbled.

“I won’t,” Minka replied, sniffling once more.

Hans thought, briefly, about apologising. He didn’t.

* * *

To her credit, Minka hadn’t been wrong about Milo and Caleb not paying him any attention.

Hans drove the carriage, sat in front wearing servants’ tunic and trousers, and whatever conversation filtered through the slot that connected him and his brothers had nothing to do with him. In fact, Caleb seemed to be scolding Milo for his clumsiness with words more often than anything, and Hans couldn’t help but agree with him. For all Milo’s attempts at making the poor love him for his sympathy and charity in offering food and water, there was a thin layer of disgust he seemed incapable to shed. Caleb, learning from their father, was quick to scold him for it (and it was disturbing how similar he sounded to the king, how they criticised the exact same things), and Milo was even quicker to whispershout in return because Caleb was being ‘an obsessive, nitpicking cunt’.

It was in times like these that Hans truly understood the meaning of the word schadenfreude—happiness really _did_ come at the misfortune of others. As Milo kept trying to win the hearts of these people, and subsequently fumbled his way through speeches filled with as much shit as he was, Hans found himself smiling more and more until he was grinning outright. It was a good thing that, to most people, he was more or less invisible, and so no-one would notice the beaming fool leading the horses.

Unfortunately, Milo’s failures weren’t the only things that his older brothers talked about while Hans steered the carriage throughout the kingdom streets. Every so often he’d hear Milo ask about Caleb’s work with their father, and despite his own lack of power in the kingdom, Hans strained his ears to hang onto every word. There was talk of trade with the various kingdoms—about Eldora’s cotton seeming to come in less, about Blavenia’s inability to pay their debts to the Southern Isles, about Zaria’s gold being imported faster than the Isles could make coin—and there was, surprisingly, talk about strengthening the Westergaard army and increasing its forces.

“Father’s never worried about our forces before,” came Milo’s voice from inside as Hans moved from the poorer districts back to the homes of those better off. “What’s happening? Are we going bankrupt?”

“No,” Caleb replied, exasperation clear in his tone, “of course not. But… you remember the kingdom of Arendelle, don’t you? That little nothing country with the Ice Queen?”

Milo huffed a laugh. “How could I forget?”

“Well, it’s only improved under Queen Elsa’s reign. They’re collecting allies far and wide, and the rumours say it’s not just for trade.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“We’ve written them letters, but none of them have been replied to.”

Hans’ heart caught in his throat.

“Because of Hans’ screw-up? _God_ , I don’t understand why Father didn’t just have him executed. It’s not like he’s any help to us at all—”

“ _Quiet_. It’s not _about_ Hans any more.” And at those words, Hans let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his tongue wetting his lips as Caleb’s words washed over him. “We’ve apologised, both formally and informally, and the queen knows he lives only because our God in Heaven doesn’t approve of filicide.

“No,” Caleb said, “our spies say that it’s Father’s… ways with people, that she hates.”

“Fuck her, then!” Milo exclaimed, his voice cracking towards the end in his passion. “Fuck her and her nothing kingdom! It’s not like we need anything from them, anyway.”

“You idiot. It’s not what we _need_ from her, but what she might _do_.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s _magic_ , and it’s been almost three years since her coronation. You can’t tell me you don’t believe she’s started training those ice powers of hers.”

Milo scoffed. “She’s a _girl_ , Caleb. She may be queen, but she still has a cunt between her legs, and—”

“If she knew you were talking about what she has between her legs like this, I imagine she’d be sending her eternal winter this way to ruin us forever.”

Hans’ fingers instinctively tightened over the reins. The silence in the carriage stretched on, and he found himself only a short distance away from the gates to the castle to take them home.

“Is Father…?” Milo’s voice sounded tentative, uncertain. “Does he want to start a war?”

“No,” Caleb snapped, as if Milo had said the most absurd thing in the world. “ _No_.”

And then, Caleb’s tone of voice low, he admitted, “At least, not yet. Queen Elsa may refuse to speak with us, but I gave Father an idea—do you remember that stupid princess Hans almost married?”

“Ooh, the one who punched him?” The glee in Milo’s tone was disgusting. “How could I forget! The bruise on his jaw was so _dark_ , and to think he was punched by a _girl_ —”

“Milo,” Caleb snapped, “focus. My point is that Hans went for her because she’s kinder than Elsa. Easier.”

“Easier?”

“She agreed to marry Hans in a _night_ , didn’t she? If there’s any way into Arendelle, it’s going to be through her.”

“Wait, what’re you trying to say?”

“I’m saying I need your help,” Caleb sighed. “You and everyone else. I wrote Princess Anna to come visit, and she agreed. Now we’re going to do our best to charm her, and if we’re going to show her that our country is kinder than the rumours say, then we need to put on a _show_. And that means you need to work on seeming like less of a complete ass.”

“I’m _not_ a complete--!”

“You’re full of shit, Milo. That’s why your eyes are so brown.”

The carriage came to a stop at the front doors of the castle, and Hans got down from his place and knocked once on the door. The talking inside ceased immediately.

“Excuse me?” Hans called, wondering if his voice sounded as strained as it did in his head. “We’ve arrived, Your Highnesses. May I open the door?”

After straining his ears to catch a hushed ‘we’ll talk later’ on Caleb’s end, Hans heard a ‘yes’ through the wood and pulled the door open promptly. Milo was the first to step out, sneering Hans’ way before he fixed his lapels and marched on his three-inch heel boots into the castle. Caleb followed suit, but unlike Milo barely spared him a glance as he went. Hans shut the door after them, watching their backs until they disappeared into the castle, and spent a few breaths hoping Caleb would come back to talk to him, too.

Then, hating himself for being an even bigger idiot than Milo, he climbed back up the carriage, clicking his tongue to get the horses moving again to return everything to its proper place.

* * *

Weary from work and wearier still at the thought of his former fiancée being on the Southern Isles, Hans lifted the scratchy blankets from his creaking cot to slip under them. Maybe it was best that Caleb didn’t include him in his plans; Anna, no doubt, probably still loathed him, and much as he loathed her more, it wasn’t too farfetched to think one wrong move could have the queen’s wrath upon him _specifically_. Hans was surprised he’d gotten away with a punch to the jaw—Elsa could’ve done much worse (and Hans’ father had done much worse, certainly), and he imagined that it wouldn’t take a lot for her to, either.

Staring up at the ceiling, he waited for the exhaustion to take over. His eyelids were already heavy, and slowly the darkness seeped in from the edges of vision. It would be a brief reprieve, and before he knew it he’d be waking again, and working again, and hating the world again…

But, two-thirds of the way to slumber, he heard a knock on his door and a very familiar voice whisper a harsh, “ _Hans_!”

 _Minka, again? Maybe if I just ignore her…_

“Hans! It’s important!”

 _Ooh, because your idea of ‘important’ is a life and death situation. Yeah,_ right _. You can just tell me in the morning._

“Oh, Hans… I’m just going to slip it under your door, okay?” _Okay._ “Here—”

With the hushed noise of paper sliding over wood, Hans knew that whatever Minka left him must have been a note of some sort. Still, he kept his eyes closed, turned onto his side towards the wall, and waited for sleep to claim him.

…and then scrambled out of bed a few minutes later anyway, when a peep at his floor and the moonlight shining on it revealed the black and red of the Westergaard family crest printed on dried wax. Without a doubt, it was the seal of His Royal Highness Caleb Westergaard, Crown Prince of the Southern Isles, and though Hans struggled at first to pull it up from the floor, crinkling the envelope in the process, in the end he caught it between trembling fingers. They shook, still, when he ripped the envelope open, and it took all his self-control to keep his hands steady as he held the note up in the light to read his elder brother’s impeccable cursive.

The message scorched itself into his brain like a brand:

> _Hans,_
> 
> _Come to my study tomorrow after I’ve had breakfast._
> 
> _You and I have much to discuss._
> 
> _Caleb_


End file.
